


Paroxysm

by quaestorv



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaestorv/pseuds/quaestorv
Summary: Quaestor Valdemar teaches a fellow doctor how to treat hysteria by demonstrating the procedure on the head nurse.This story features my OC Margaret, as well as my friend's OC Posie. You can find Posie's creator on Instagram @starsaph @valdememers.





	Paroxysm

Margaret sighed, glancing around the now nearly-vacant dungeon. Just an hour before, the room had been buzzing with medical staff, but it was late now; much of the staff had gone home for rest. Plague victims groaned and huffed, stuffed tightly into cages lining the dreary stone wall.

On the other end of the room, Posie stood leaning against the doorway of her office with the record from the day’s operation in her hands. She wasn’t looking at the papers, though. She was staring daggers at Margaret with those cold, dark eyes, sizing her up like a rib-eye steak.

_If looks could kill_.

Margaret felt a chill creep up her spine. Her stomach tied in knots, but she wouldn’t let it show on her face. She gave the doctor a too-ecstatic smile before briskly turning and entering a supply closet. She closed the door behind her, enveloping herself in darkness. The only light in the closet came from the next room through the small keyhole in the door. Margaret knew this space well. She gripped a neatly-folded stack of aprons, brought them to her face, and pressed them tightly against her open mouth—

Her piercing shrieks were muffled by the many layers of fabric.

No one would notice her over the cries of the infected patients outside the closet.

When she was finished, she ripped the aprons away from her face, panting like she had been drowning. Delicately and deliberately, she folded the aprons. They quickly found their home back on the shelf and she opened the door, immediately faced with two menacing figures.

Posie and Quaestor Valdemar.

_Have mercy._

“Did you hear that, Doctor?” Posie said with a twisted grin.

“Yes, I’m afraid I did, darling Doctor 034,” the Quaestor replied. “You were right. The nurse is quite hysterical.”

“Hysterical?” Margaret asked as though she were genuinely confused about how they came to such a conclusion. She knew damn well.

“This is an excellent learning opportunity,” Posie said with elated malice. “I haven’t treated a patient inflicted with hysteria _yet_.”

“ _Yet_ ,” the Quaestor echoed. “I couldn’t possibly resist the chance to teach you. We must round out your skill set. The sooner, the better.” Their pointed-tooth grin made Margaret’s stomach jump right into her throat.

There was a very brief pause. An unsettling atmosphere lingered.

“Nurse, please remove your uniform and lie down on this operating table,” they commanded, gesturing to the table behind them.

“But Doctor, what about the patients?” Margaret asked, referring to the plague victims lined up in the cages.

“I’m sure they’re quite preoccupied enough with survival. Please follow my instructions.”

Margaret bit her tongue and did as she was told, slowly unpinning her apron, unbuttoning her dress, and then rolling her stockings down. Her own hands felt cold against her skin. Neither doctor spared so much as a glance away from her the entire time she undressed; she wasn’t even sure if Valdemar had blinked. Once completely nude, she placed her folded clothes on a nearby chair and hoisted herself up onto the operating table.

It didn’t take long for the two doctors to surround the operating table like vultures hunched over their dinner, their eyes all over her body. The Quaestor began to prattle on and on about the history and symptoms of hysteria. Margaret didn’t dare glance over to the barred cells to see if the patients were watching. She tried her best to ignore the entire situation.

That is, until Quaestor Valdemar grabbed her by the waist with their icy hands and yanked her to the end of the table until her legs were dangling over the edge. They placed one ankle over their shoulder as they continued their lecture, then gestured for Posie to mirror the movement. Margaret’s legs were now spread wide open, an ankle resting on either doctor. Her cunt was completely exposed. Her face reddened.

“Now, Doctor 034, I’m sure you’ve noticed the hallmark symptoms in our nurse before. The behavior you caught her displaying earlier—anxiety, perhaps a mood swing—is a symptom,” they said. They ran down a laundry list full of qualities she thought she had always cleverly hid. Shortness of breath, irritability, nervousness… Margaret realized it didn’t matter how well she presented herself. Nothing escaped the Quaestor.

“There is no permanent cure for hysteria,” they carried on. “All we can do is temporarily remedy her condition by bringing her to hysterical paroxysm.”

Margaret noticed how Posie watched with the same insatiable curiosity she had when vivisecting and experimenting on patients. Posie was quiet, listening intently, a glimmer in her expression as the Quaestor’s shiny, slick gloved finger tapped the bottom of Margaret’s slit and slowly trailed up to her clitoris.

Margaret jerked and gasped, bringing both hands to cover her mouth. Her face was burning scarlet.

Valdemar tilted their head. “Oh?” They trailed her anatomy once more, causing her to writhe against the hard wood of the table. “Nurse, if you can’t hold still, we will have to restrain you. This is a teaching moment for Doctor 034 and you must take this seriously.”

“My—My apologies, Doctor,” Margaret mumbled, attempting to settle down into a professional mindset.

“Here’s another symptom. Do you see how _excessively_ lubricated the specimen is with such little stimulation, Doctor 034?” Valdemar asked, turning their attention to Posie.

“Yes, I do,” she said, sounding smugly satisfied, absent-mindedly trailing a finger down Margaret’s thigh.

They began explaining the process of creating a hysterical paroxysm, all the while slowly and gently rubbing in a circular motion around Margaret’s clitoris. Her eyes squeezed shut. The doctor began to bear down a bit harder and their tempo increased, and Margaret’s back arched as she tried to rock against their hand. Their touch felt like sugar. She wanted this. She _needed_ this.

“ _Nurse_ ,” they said sternly, snapping her out of her trance.

She didn’t respond, instead inhaling deeply, then exhaling slowly.

“No, no… this won’t do. It seems we’ll have to restrain this specimen if you’re to get a proper lesson out of this, 034,” they said. They grabbed one arm at a time, fastening each arm to the table with a brown leather strap. More straps were placed over her neck and waist to keep her still, fastened tighter than was comfortable. They came back to the end of the table and heft her ankle up over their shoulder once more to resume the lecture. “Now that the nurse is subdued, attempt the motions I taught you.”

It seemed as though Posie’s hand was on Margaret before the Quaestor had even finished their sentence. She was rougher then the Quaestor had been, and Margaret was sure it was on purpose. Margaret bit her lip to prevent from making too much sound as Posie rubbed circles around and even pinched her clitoris. Margaret struggled against the worn leather belt holding her neck to the table, finding the feeling of being throttled more comfortable in this instance than being still, because being still right now would be _impossible_. She bit her lip so hard it would certainly bruise.

“Yes, you’re doing excellent, Doctor 034,” the Quaestor praised. Flustered Margaret barely heard it, too focused on the smooth, rough sensation. She felt another set of fingers join Posie’s—undoubtedly Valdemar’s—and felt two of their fingers slide inside of her and curl. It took only a few small moments of stroking to drag her over the edge.

It felt like blinding white light. It was every anxious feeling she ever had painted in happy colors; the knots in her stomach were butterflies, the chills up her were firecrackers, and the restraint against her neck was a loving embrace. As she came down from her paroxysm, she wheezed heavily, her face flushed and sweaty.

As the Quaestor concluded their lecture, Posie helped them remove her restraints. The whole room seemed to spin when Margaret sat up, but she steeled her expression, wanting to return to modesty as quickly as possible. She hopped down and grabbed her clothes.

“Now, as I previously stated, this was simply a temporary remedy to a persistent problem. It is our duty as doctors to provide our patient—our specimen—the best care possible. We will need to work on the nurse _quite regularly_ if we’re to see any sort of long-term improvement in her condition.”

_This was going to be the death of her_.


End file.
